


Everybody's Had an Awkward Stage

by stupid_drawings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupid_drawings/pseuds/stupid_drawings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes the mistake of showing John a picture of Mycroft's awkward stage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody's Had an Awkward Stage

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Winter_of_our_discontent, but not britpicked yet. I am trying to get all my finished fics up before the last episode of Series 2 comes out this Sunday. I will get it britpicked soon and edit it, though, so no worries.  
> Also, if anyone does any art of this, please show me, I will link it here!

Sherlock sometimes reminds John of an eight year old boy. He loves gruesome deaths, collecting gross things, and showing off. He’s also a bit of a bully and he treats John like they are best friends in the schoolyard, making sure he’s the only one that gets to hang out with John.

Once John thought of this comparison, he could not stop thinking of Sherlock this way. He could even imagine a young Sherlock. Little smug face, small but still elegant. He was probably almost pixie in appearance, like a dark haired Peter Pan.

So John being John, asked if Sherlock had any pictures of himself from around that age. Sherlock’s face went a little pink and he said he did not. John would not let the subject drop, though, so Sherlock said he had a picture of Mycroft from age thirteen. This quite efficiently distracted John.

“I am not supposed to show you this, but just do not tell Mycroft,” Sherlock whispered.

The picture was amazing. John had always thought Mycroft had a big head, but that he wasn’t overweight like Sherlock always teased. Well, in this picture, Mycroft’s head seemed to match the rest of him. John could not help but laugh at a gap-toothed and extremely pudgy young Mycroft wearing a bow tie that looked a little too tight, which only made him look fatter. He had his hair parted down the middle, braces and such a big awkward smile it actually made John cringe a bit. Mycroft must have been teased quite a bit, but at least he looked happy in the picture.

The next day, Sherlock was sprawled across the coffee table when his phone rang. It was Mycroft, so Sherlock did not answer. His phone rang again and it was Mycroft again. Sherlock felt a spike of anxiety, but did not pick up. The third time his phone rang, he was sitting up staring at the phone. He answered and was promptly hung up on.

Mycroft had hung up on him. Sherlock blinked and looked at the screen. Yes, Mycroft had actually hung up on him. He waited for his phone to ring again. When it didn’t, Sherlock ground his teeth, realizing this was Mycroft’s way of saying _you have to call me._ Annoying git.

After another minute, Sherlock was pacing the room, listening to his phone. Mycroft picked up on the sixth ring. Bastard.

“Ah, Sherlock,” came Mycroft’s fake polite tone, “I trust you decided our truce was no longer in effect?”  
Sherlock froze.

Mycroft continued, “So I took the liberty of sending John Watson a copy of your school picture. I know making copies was restricted, due to the truce, but since the truce is off... I would not want to risk losing the original, after all.”

Sherlock took off running as soon as Mycroft had said John’s name. He knew it was likely too late, but he had to try. Sherlock, coatless, shoeless, and in his pajamas and dressing gown, ran down the street toward the surgery. His only hope was that John had been busy with a patient and not been able to look at the picture yet.

Twenty two minutes later, an out of breath, frantic, and freezing Sherlock was panting in the reception area of the surgery wearing his pajamas and a crazed expression. He had to start his sentence three times before he was actually able to get coherent words out.

“I said... has John... Watson... gotten mail... today?” he asked between breaths.

The receptionist looked terrified. She was not sure if the man in front of her was _in_ trouble or was, in fact, trouble itself. She refused to give out personal information about an employee, but halfway through her statement, Sherlock had dashed off down the hall toward John’s office. He threw open the door just as the receptionist reached him, trying to pull him back. There was an awkward grapple in which Sherlock tried to push her back with his back, and she managed to pin his arms pretty firmly behind his back. She was quite strong for an older woman.

John had been at his desk, holding a manila envelope and staring at a picture that had come out of it. But now he was staring at Sherlock and Mrs. Peterson wrestling. It took a moment for his brain to comprehend what he was seeing before he yelled “STOP.”

They did.

It took a moment more before Mrs. Peterson released Sherlock’s arms, though. John had to assure her that Sherlock was his flatmate and that everything was okay. Sherlock took a step into the room, then slammed the door in Mrs. Peterson’s face. John gave him a look, but Sherlock was focused completely on the photograph lying on the desk.

Now that he knew John had seen it, he had the urge to run. Instead he dashed over to the desk to rip the photo into tiny bits, then burn the bits. But John sensed his intent and intercepted Sherlock, grabbing his upper arms and holding him still.

Sherlock, not looking John in the eyes, sighed and muttered, “go ahead, make fun of me.”

John stared at Sherlock for a full minute, Sherlock still refusing to make eye contact, before he spoke. “I am not going to make fun of you. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Sherlock finally glanced up at John, but only for a second before casting his eyes down at the floor again. Sounding even more dejected, he said, “yes, but now you won’t think of me the same way...”

John could not stand it anymore, he grabbed Sherlock’s face and forced it up so that Sherlock would look at him. “No, I won’t think of you the same way. This is proof that you are human, not just some sort of perfect creature. Hey, keep looking at me! Okay? I would never be able to get up the guts to do this to someone perfect, but I could do this to a human.”

Sherlock started to ask what he was planning to do, but was cut off when John pressed his lips to Sherlock and kissed him. It was a bit awkward, their teeth bumped a little and their noses bumped a lot, but it was something altogether amazing. Their first kiss, which only now seemed to Sherlock to be long-overdue. _How had he missed this?_ Sherlock wondered.

The kiss only lasted about thirty seconds, but it felt so much longer than that to Sherlock and so much shorter than that to John. Sherlock now searched John’s face for any hint of mockery. John realized he was still holding Sherlock’s face tightly, and released him.

“Is this okay?” John asked, because he was having trouble identifying Sherlock’s expression.

“Yes. But...”

“But what?”

“Let me tear up the picture,” Sherlock all but begged. John was surprised that it did not come out as a deep-voiced command. It made John really consider the request instead of automatically refusing. Eventually, John decided that he was unwilling to give up the photograph, so instead he tried to compromise.

“If you let me keep this, I’ll show you one of me from my awkward stage. Believe me, it’s just as bad as yours.”

In the end, Sherlock agreed. He did not understand why John liked the picture of Sherlock’s awkward stage so much until he saw John’s own awkward stage picture. Looking at it he realized that it made him love John all the more, which was surprising in itself since he had not previously realized he _loved_ John.

The photographs ended up stuck in a frame together, placed on the bedside table in Sherlock’s room, which had become their room. In one picture, Sherlock, age nine and a half, was wearing a very unfortunate skintight striped knit shirt. He had a a very long top-heavy head, his hair was grown out, shaped like a chin-length pyramid, and extremely frizzy. His eyebrows must have darkened with age, because in the picture they were virtually invisible, giving him an even more alien look than the head shape. His adams apple seemed to stick out impossibly far and his lips seemed to have been the same size as they are now, but his head was smaller then. The weirdest thing about all this was little Sherlock’s smile. It was so genuine. In the other picture stood a young John around age twelve. He stood wearing a baggy jumper with a teddy bear on it and jeans that were far too short. He was barefoot and standing on a lawn in front of a very boxy car. Poor little John had a huge nose and his hair was worn in a bowl cut. His face had horrible acne and he was scowling.

Pictures of Mycroft’s and Harry’s awkward stages were tucked inside the frame behind these two, not visible, but there in case either man was in need of cheering up.


End file.
